


You and I and My Dirty Mind

by babyitsbeautiful



Series: Gendrya Song Fics [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boy Epic - Freeform, Dirty mind, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Public Sex, Smut, Song fic, gendry baratheon, it's complicated - Freeform, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyitsbeautiful/pseuds/babyitsbeautiful
Summary: Set to the lyrics of the song 'Dirty Mind' by Boy Epic.She puts her hands on her hips as he holds himself up by his elbows on the mattress, blue eyes never wavering the stormy grey of her own.“I mean, I can leave if you want. You can sit here and be stressed out or I can fuck you until you forget your own name, makes no difference to me?”It does, but she’s gotten insanely good at pretending.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Gendrya Song Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586512
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	You and I and My Dirty Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shayarbel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shayarbel/gifts).



> My original outline for this was supposed to be like 5k max, but I went a little crazy. 
> 
> Since this is a gift for one of my favorite people, I just kept thinking, "What would Shay want?" 
> 
> And the answer is smut, lots of smut with some angst. 
> 
> So, I hope this will suffice. I love you so much, boo.

**_I know what you like_ **

**_Get the champagne_ **

**_Hands on your thighs_ **

**_Wanna get your body high_ **

She hates these things.

The stuffy, self-righteous, arrogance of it all and if it wasn’t for her brother Robb running for Senator, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. But despite her ill feelings of the over-jealous crowd of the two-faced politicians and the stale atmosphere that’s almost to the point of suffocating her if she has to force herself into wearing another fake smile and pretend to care about any of these people’s agendas, she’s beyond use to it. Growing up as a Stark in the world of Westerosi politics, it’s game she’s come to know very well.

Arya knows that her family is acutely aware of her distaste for these events, or _gala_ as they like to call it, a much fancier rouse to get the wealthiest assholes to attend, so for that, they leave her be, only bothering her when it’s time to put on another smile, albeit a little more genuine, for a picture with the whole family. Those she’s able to handle with a certain grace and a little less sarcasm. She’d do anything for her family, even parade around as Lady Stark for the night, eager to shed the persona she loathes and get back to just being Arya.

Aside from the current clientele she’s forced to mingle with, these events do have their perks that she only gets to partake in every once in a while, which is getting to dress up like the badass and fierce feminine warrior queen that she is. The dress she chose for tonight says it all.

It’s a lighter shade of gold and floor-length, two slits running down from her hips on either side to her feet to give her tanned, toned legs a perfect side view without revealing too much skin as she’s walking around, the material flowing gracefully and freely in the wind. (Sitting down is a different story entirely.)

The material from her hips to her neck is a laced intricately sequined design, roaming over the entire top half of her body, covering her enough for the matching bra underneath to be classy and subtle, all the way down her arms to her tattooed wrists, something her mother always liked for her to keep cover during nights like these. She only partly obeys.

But her favorite part about her outfit are the strapped heels that crisscross up her calves, the perfect touch for her to feel every bit as incredible as the dress actually is. (And adding a little more height which she never really minds.)

Sansa insisted that she fix her hair in a wavy splash of curls, pinning her long bangs back on the top of her head and adding just the right amount of tone on her makeup and red lipstick to give the ensemble that extra kick.

Arya is sitting at a table near the far side of the hall the gala is being held in, one that’s bathed half in darkness, the only light giving away her existence is the spotlight overhead that turns in her direction every few seconds or so, nursing her second glass of champagne when she catches a pair of deep blue eyes watching her from across the room, attached to a gorgeous face, muscular frame and dark hair leaning alone against the bar holding his own glass of the amber liquid clad in an all-black suit that leaves him looking undeniably irresistible.

With one hand on the stem of her flute, the other rests against the tablecloth, her nails tapping lightly over the red covered wood in a way that suggests the action is done out of pure boredom, and not to keep his attention on her.

Her legs instinctively uncross and then cross again the other way, letting the material of her dress fall away to reveal most, if not her entire leg and she can see even from where she sits, him eyeing those legs appreciatively. That fact alone causes her to release her most brilliant smile that night as she turns her head, the blush rising in her cheeks. 

It’s not the first time she’s noticed him watching her tonight as their gazes landed on the other almost immediately upon her fashionably late entrance and from then until now she finds she can’t quite bring herself to focus on any other man in the room other than him and his brooding blue eyes she gets completely lost in. Something she realizes is absurd for it makes her vulnerable, an unfamiliar notion she’s not comfortable with.

He downs most of his glass in one swing, never taking his eyes from her and she arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow in a silent challenge his way, daring him to do something about this dance they’ve been entangled in since the night began.

Her lips tilt up in a smug smirk and she internally praises everything above as he finally takes the hint and makes his way towards her, glass still in hand although almost empty, but that doesn’t mean anything to her. She’s never believed in _liquid courage_ anyway, she does whatever she wants, whenever she wants.

He grabs a chair that’s curved farther down on the other side of the table, bringing it close to her side and sits down without saying a word, the tension palpable.

But they don’t need to, the facial expressions and body language radiating off the both of them tells a tale that speaks louder than any words ever could.

She leans ever so slightly towards him, angling her body in his direct vicinity as obvious as she can, as he sets his glass down next to hers and crosses his hands together on the table in front of him, the smile he gives her pleading for her to make the next move now that he’s closed the painfully sexually charged distance between them.

A slow song starts to seep through the speakers in every corner of the room as most of everyone here grabs another warm body to dance with in the center, apart from them. They don’t move an inch, the static around them almost unbearable as they just sit and breathe each other in, hearts almost beating as one.

Her eyes travel slowly down to his lips and the stubble underneath and then back up, a certain brazen wickedness filling her body and soul.

With the attention focused elsewhere, Arya’s hand reaches out and tilts his glass, the last remaining liquid spilling out on the tablecloth in front of them, and rather than being fazed by it, he simply grins at her, curiosity laced on his lips wondering what game she’s playing.

Oh, she’s definitely enjoying this more than she thought she would.

As her foot slides up and down his leg slowly, she reaches out and grabs his left hand that’s closest to her, taking his middle finger and running it leisurely through the spilled champagne that floats across the table, back and forth until it’s coated fully before taking the digit into her mouth, sucking all the alcohol from his skin and then releasing it with a loud pop before taking the same hand up underneath the table, in between her thighs under the material of her dress, until it’s teasing her center.

Keeping her eyes locked on his, she can barely see blue anymore as it’s replaced with black and an amount of pure lust she can’t even begin to comprehend because using that same finger that’s sticky with champagne and her own mouth, she uses it to push aside the damp, constricting fabric and then pushing it inside her deeply, a soft moan escaping her red coated lips.

Her back arches upward as his finger curls inside her, something she didn’t force but is rather done voluntarily by his own making, indicating he wants to pleasure her no matter which way she asks of him. Or rather _shows_ him. 

She bites her clenched knuckles as her other hand encircles his wrist even tighter, urging him along as he slips another finger inside her and quickens the pace, his other hand roaming over her bare thigh under the table, massaging the skin until she’s thrusting her hips toward where he sits, begging for more.

While what he’s giving her is pure pleasure, it’s not enough, it’s not what she truly wants or needs. She needs him, _all_ of him.

It’s not fair, to have her coming completely undone while he just sits there, stirring in his own smugness at getting her aroused so publicly, while he doesn’t even break a sweat. She needs to even the playing field and tries to do just that by releasing her hold on his wrist and bringing it to cup his hard erection through the pants of his suit.

He obviously wasn’t expecting as such because as soon as she gets her hand on his cock, fabric covered or not, his finger slips out of her, cooling her to the touch, missing the warmth they brought.

He pulls his body back slightly as he brings the two fingers that were just inside her cunt up to his mouth, tasting her arousal, before he’s grabbing her by the arm, pulling her away from the now messy table and any eyes that might be watching.

They leave the ballroom and end up behind the closest door they could find, a hall closet that holds uniforms of the catering employees.

Once the door is closed, her body is instantly pressed against the cool wood face first, her cheek hitting the hard surface while eager hands trail along her calves upward, bringing the material of her dress with them in a tight fist balled at her side.

“If you get anything on this dress, I will murder you.”

He responds without words, biting her earlobe and then licking the pain away softly, the sound of her earrings clashing together reverberating in her pulsing eardrums.

His dress fisted hand stays on her back, holding her in place and by the sounds of it, his other hand is working quickly to rid himself of his pants and the only thing keeping him from sheathing himself inside of her.

She registers his pants falling to the floor, but as he rubs his tip at her entrance, the wetness from his own arousal teasing her folds, she suddenly can’t breathe, the anticipation is just too much for her to grasp onto and she _needs_ something to grasp onto.

She nods as fast as she can telling him she needs him to be in her now, and with once swift motion, he has her panties stretched to the side and he’s buried so deep inside her, she wants nothing more than for this feeling to last an eternity.

Her hands twist behind her holding onto his hips, it’s a little awkward but with the way he feels inside her, she could care less.

The material on her dress scratches the wood, a piercing sound resembling nails on a chalkboard, fills the small space around them accompanied by the slapping of skin on skin as he thrusts in and out of her at an increasingly fast pace, his own self-control beginning to wear thin.

She’s almost there too, hell she was almost there at the table only minutes earlier and had it not been for her own arrogance distracting him, she would have come right then and there in a room full of strangers.

One hand holding her hip, the other one finds her clit, rubbing circles so smooth that she’s moaning uncontrollably at the sensation he’s causing, “Fuck. _Please_.”

She’s not one to beg, but the circumstances call for it as she pleads with him to get them both over the edge and when he almost pulls out of her, leaving just the tip teasing her swollen lips before plunging hard and fast, she comes just the same, bringing him down with her as he twitches his release spilling himself empty, her thighs clenching around his arm that remains resting against her abdomen.

Before dropping her dress back down to the floor, he reaches for a stack of dishtowels, cleaning any remnants of their act from her completely, giving into her wish to not have anything appear on her dress as she reenters society.

He’s buckling his belt when his voice sounds in her ears for the first time that night, “I really hope Edric didn’t see us walk out together, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Arya smooths her skirt back down, meeting his gaze, “The end of what exactly?”

“Oh, just that I am an idiot for still fucking my ex and that if we’re going to keep it up, we never should have broken up in the first place.”

_He’s right, we shouldn’t have, and I still love you._

The words are right there, tingling on her lips demanding to be said aloud.

She doesn’t.

Instead she does what she does best and rolls her eyes at that statement, despite him not being able to see it in the blissful darkness, “What we do or don’t do isn’t any of his business and I don’t owe him nor anyone an explanation.”

Gendry, now fully dressed simply says, “I agree completely.”

 _God, just say you love me too, please. Say anything but agreeing that we’re better off broken up,_ her head is screaming at her to yell at him.

She crosses her arms, “Good.”

He’s scowling again, clenching his jaw until it ticks in that same way that makes him look ridiculously strong and equally gorgeous, but also drives her insane because he only does it when he wants to say something, but bites back his words, “Good.”

It’s one of the reasons they ended their relationship in the first place, neither never really saying what they want to say, always leading into a fight or an argument that could have been handled with just a little bit of decent communication.

She breathes out a stubborn huff and with that he’s sliding past her out the door, leaving her alone with nothing but the quiet and the stench of sex in the air.

What hurts the most though is the fact that the sound of the slamming door and vibrating hinges doesn’t even make her flinch anymore.

**_I know you wanna fight_ **

**_Set a new pace_ **

**_Wanna do you right_ **

**_Keep your back to the sky_ **

**_Go slow, or no_ **

Gendry hasn’t seen her since the night he accompanied his brother in the capital, nearly three weeks before. It wasn’t strange or new to him seeing her there, what with the Starks being the Starks and all, nor was it, strange hooking up with her in a coat closet.

What was strange, however, was how they left things, hot blooded and frustration filling the air between them. He didn’t intend for her to get so defense over his innocent remark about getting caught by Edric or any one of his or her siblings for that matter.

Ever since they ended their relationship, there’s been an unspoken agreement between the two that casual sex was still on the table.

They wouldn’t call it being friends with benefits, because that would imply, they were still friends, not far from it. Perhaps all the fighting and arguments kept that from being possible, but who really knows, it’s not him that’s keeping that from being a possibility.

Every time he tries to be civil or be friendly acquaintances rather than just a quick fuck, he feels something shift between them, something hostile.

He wishes to all the Gods that that isn’t the case. He still has feelings for her and if he had it his way, they’d still be together. But it’s not just about what he wants, he’ll do whatever he can to stay in Arya’s life. But being tied down in a relationship never suited her, and he also felt that which is why they both kept up walls.

The sex, however, was always electric and they’d both be out of their damn minds to give up that aspect of their relationship so easily.

Now they co-exist in the same world, with the same mutual friends, only hooking up in random places when they happen to end up in the same room together or on a rare occasion that either one of them needs to scratch an itch, therefore prompting a single text indicating a time and place to meet.

The night of the gala was almost three weeks ago and with the way she looked, or rather sounded when they last spoke, is what kept him from texting her, just hoping that when they ran into each other again, that unspoken agreement would still hold true.

But now as he leisurely sips on his third beer of the night at the newest nightclub in town, his friends about the place somewhere or another, the alcohol seeming to just start to take effect, he thinks that maybe Arya has gone back on their casual sex notion as he watches her sway and grind against another body out on the dance floor, her eyes catching his every now and then as she moves along, a small taunting smirk playing at her lips.

No, this is something new entirely. This is her attempting to make him jealous by showing him that she’s free to touch whomever she wants. But he knows her better than anyone. She _wants_ him to get jealous.

He keeps his blue eyes locked on Arya, her black ripped skirt inching up higher and higher as she moves, and his fist clenches around his beer bottle involuntarily at the hands that are not her own sliding up and down her thighs.

As the music plays, his heart thumping erratically to the beat strumming in his ears, he sees her flip her hair to the side, a smile on her lips as her tongue wets the pink flesh softly.

He knows she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him, to see how far she can go before he’s pulling her into his arms in the protective stance he’s always done and taking what’s his.

(Or rather what used to be his.)

He sets the bottle down on the counter top a little harder than he intended and makes his way through the bustling crowd of sweaty bodies before he’s pulling her away from her current partner, who by all means doesn’t seemed fazed a bit she’s no longer theirs, and into his arms, his hands gripping her hips tightly, his forehead leaning down to rest on hers as he sways them both back and forth to the beat of the sounds pulsing around them.

She loosens her grip as she spins herself around, leaning back into his touch, her ass grinding into his now growing erection.

 _Oh, she’s good_ , he thinks as she wiggles her ass more and more, feeling him harden behind her. He pushes her hair back so that he has a clear view of her neck, his lips and teeth seeking out her skin immediately as he sucks and licks a mark into her in an animalistic, primal way.

“You can’t just pull me away from whomever you know, I’m not yours anymore.” She speaks to him and him only.

“Don’t tell me this isn’t what you wanted, you’ve always liked how jealous I get over you, don’t start pretending now that you don’t, Stark.”

She laughs loudly and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

After a few more minutes of grinding and pulling, of pushing and licking, it’s becoming harder and harder for him not to just take her right then and there in the middle of hundreds of strangers, but it’s Arya who finally breaks first, seeking out his hand and pulling it under her skirt discreetly, his fingers finding her bare, wet folds practically dripping and his for the taking, making his cock rock hard behind her.

He plunges his finger inside her, and then another as she moans into the sensations, he causing to rise within her, the sound mixing with the music, the strangers around them lost in their own world.

He assumes she’d had enough teasing and before he realizes it, she’s pulling him away from the crowd and outside into the back alley that the employees go for a smoke break.

He remembers then that her best friend is a bartender here, it must be how she knows exactly where to go and when the right moment of privacy will be.

As soon as the door is closed behind them, her hands fly to his pants as his seek to lift her skirt up just enough to get to what they both equally desire.

It has to be quick, they both know this, for fear of being caught, which makes the desire to be inside her all the more unbearable.

She slides his cock free just enough before she’s turned around again, silently begging for him to get on with it already.

With her skirt up just high enough, he enters her fully and quickly, both releasing a loud pent up moan at the contact that vibrates off the brick walls on either side of them.

With one hand gripping her waist, his other pushes her back down to keep it straight and flat against the sky as he thrusts deeper and deeper, faster and harder.

Not long after they begin does, he feel her walls begin to clench around his cock, bringing with it another flood of arousal as they both begin the ascend into unadulterated bliss.

He pulls out almost completely before pushing back inside of her, _hard_. So hard that neither one of them expect what it causes, which is for them to both come undone and orgasm at the same time, breathless and filled to the brim.

He spills inside of her, just as he always has knowing it’s safe for him to do so, as he feels her hear rate slow down to a normal pace before pulling out of her and cursing himself for not having anything to clean her off with as his white seed spills down the side of her bare thigh, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I can…”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought because suddenly her finger is on his mouth hushing his words, a smirk on her lips, her eyes dark with unbridled lust, “Just leave it.”

She gives him a playful wink as she slides her skirt back down to a normal level, his eyes following the movement watching as her thigh becomes wet with a single drip all the way down to her feet.

She flips her hair back again before sauntering off and back inside with his cum on her leg. That thought alone makes him painfully hard again as he stands outside, alone, and desperate for another release he can no longer obtain now that she’s no longer within arms-reach.

He sees her stop, with one hand on the door watching him, “Aren’t you coming back in?”

He leans against the brick and squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to think about anything else, “Mhmm, just need a minute.”

She laughs loudly, his eyes jolting open to the noise, “Oh my god, are you hard again because of the cum on my leg?”

He looks at his feet, the blush creeping up on his skin giving him away for sure, “No.”

What she does next leaves him breathless.

She’s no longer prancing back into the club but rather walking back towards him slowly, a wicked look in her eyes as she gets on her knees and undoes his pants once again, taking him in hand with a few pumps before his cock is entering her mouth, slick and ready.

He feels his eyes darken as he watches her on her knees, bobbing her head delightfully with his cock in her mouth and he just can’t help but to help move her along, fucking her mouth tenderly as she insists on relieving him once more.

She’s going to be the death of him, he knew this back then and it still rings true to this day.

**_Yes or yes?_ **

**_Do you want it in?_ **

**_You wanna be stressed, I'd rather have sex_ **

**_You and I and my dirty mind_ **

**_We can stay high or no?_ **

She did him dirty at the nightclub, both with her teasing and her little show of pride when she wasn’t worried about cleaning himself off of her and then blowing him until she swallowed him whole, but she but she can’t find it in her to care very much about anything other than to drive him absolutely mad which she successfully did that night and multiple times over.

Gendry does things to her, makes her feel things both physical and emotionally that she doesn’t know how to deal with anymore, so she deals with it the only way she can, with sex.

Even after their breakup, she found she couldn’t quite shake him completely, not when she still feels this attached, not when she still loves him.

But they’re a disaster together, this at the time it became a thing with them, seemed like the only way to go.

They could still have each other without _actually having_ each other.

All thoughts of him and any unresolved feelings fly from her mind when she walks into the pub and seems him sitting alone at the bar, a drink in hand and a signature scowl on his face, only deeper and more pronounced this time, her feelings of adoration replaced solely by feelings of concern.

She stands by the door watching as his mood seems to simmer somewhere, she’s never seen him go, somewhere dark and tense, his shoulders strong and unnerving.

She can fix that, help him forget whatever has him in the soured pissy mood he’s in, but from the way he nearly bites the bartender’s head off for something she’s unsure of from so far away, that might be easier said than done.

They don’t do _this_ anymore, the feelings, the talking. But she has to try, at least it might even give her an opening and a way to bring up the fact that she regrets their break-up more than anything. If anything, it’ll lead to some stressless sex, which she is completely fine with, if it means getting him in bed helps him even just a little bit.

She stalks quietly over to the bar, sitting in the stool beside him without turning his way and orders a drink for herself, watching from her peripheral vision him subtly, yet visibly relax in his seat aside her once he realizes she’s there.

“Tough day?” She says as nonchalantly as she can, not surprised in the least when he doesn’t answer her question.

“Work, stress, the usual. Not that you care.” He merely says into his glass, his breath hot on the rim.

She spins in her stool then to face him, anger bubbling underneath the surface she tries to not let show, “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have asked. Is it your dad?” Robert Baratheon has never been an easy subject for him to talk about, leading to many of their previous fights.

He only huffs in indifference in return, not playing into her hand.

She’s not surprised in the least that it’s not going to be that easy for him to open up or at least settle his nerves a little.

She rolls her eyes and stands up from the bar before her drink has even been delivered, dragging him off his own stool and through the back of the familiar pub.

She grips his hand tightly as she leads them upstairs into his loft apartment above the bar, the one the owner Mr. Mott let him rent only a few months before their inevitable and messy breakup.

“What are you doing, Arya?” He sounds defeated and her heart aches for him as she pushes him down onto his bed, a softness in her eyes she rarely ever shows, if only for him and him alone.

“I’m helping you forget and destress, unless you don’t want to?”

She puts her hands on her hips as he holds himself up by his elbows on the mattress, blue eyes never wavering the stormy grey of her own.

“I mean, I can leave if you want. You can sit here and be stressed out or I can fuck you until you forget your own name, makes no difference to me?”

It does, but she’s gotten insanely good at pretending.

She doesn’t have to wait long for him to make up his mind for he is pulling her by the beltloop on her jeans to down on top of him before she can even blink.

He kisses her hard then, something she realizes they haven’t done since they were a couple. Not even during their hookups since, it was just something that didn’t happen, whether it was intentional or not, she’s not sure, but she finds that she misses it with a burning passion regardless.

Arya returns the kiss just as eagerly as her tongue dances with his, relishing in the taste of his mouth mixed with hers and she moans into the kiss just as his lips leave her own to trail down her jaw to her collarbone, no doubt wanting to leave another mark just as he did on the dancefloor of a shady nightclub not too long ago.

They go about rid each other of their articles of clothing, taking their time to savor the moment, letting all things stressful leave their aching bodies, feeling only each other as she pushes his naked body back down onto the bed, climbing on top to ride him like the stupid bull-headed bastard he is.

He sits up and takes her breast into his mouth, sucking until the flesh turns purple and she cries out in appreciation, insisting he doesn’t stop the motions he’s electing.

This isn’t like the times before, there’s no need to hurry, no need to get done as fast as they can to avoid any lingering feelings or be in the presence of the other longer than they have to be.

They only have this moment, her grinding and riding her hips into his, him holding her waist possessively as he bucks himself into her urging them both along and when they climax together, it’s so sweet and mind-blowing that it’s _her_ screaming out the beginnings of _his_ name, the syllables falling from her lips as she moans loudly, her hazy ecstasy-filled orgasm washing over her in tandem with his own, her name sweet on his lips.

She doesn’t leave that night and he doesn’t argue, another new first, but when morning comes and she realizes they’re getting close again which could inevitably lead to more heart break, she does what she usually does and sabotages any hope for a reunion with a quick escape and a mumbling about how that was nice but it probably shouldn’t happen again in the future.

She wants him back, that much is clear, but she has to be sure he feels the same way before she exposes her heart to him again.

And so that next morning, she hid it like a tomb in the depths of the pyramids in the middle of the desert.

**_We can let it ride_ **

**_Play a new game_ **

**_Heavy overtime_ **

**_We can do it for life_ **

**_Go pro, or no_ **

****

After the night they spent in his apartment, he has a bit of fair warning now screaming in his head that they should stop this before it gets even more messy than it already is. It was different, he felt it instantly. It was as if they were still together, still happy and in love, like all the bad blood between them just fell away with every touch they shared that night, like time had never passed at all.

But when she hurried herself away the minute the sun was high in the sky, recoiled from him like she’d been burned, he’s starting to rethink any notions of a happy ending for them.

He also knows that rekindling that flame would be disastrous prospect, and it would turn out just as bad the second time around.

They’re both stubborn and hot-headed and very independent, something they both found equally attractive in the other. All the arguments and non-communication tactics just got to be too much for either of them to handle. The walls were too high and too closed off, strong and sturdy for them to break down in each other. So, they did the only thing they thought could fix that.

They ended things, closed the gap that was silently tearing them apart.

Gendry never believed that after everything they went through as a couple, that all of that could keep them held up just enough to still maintain a physical relationship. Despite it all, they’re still drawn to one another, like magnets always pushing and pulling, never able to be the same without the opposite end.

He’s been agonizing over what he must do for days now and he knows that once he sees her again, he’ll do what must be done for both of their sakes. He’ll end it completely, no more casual sex, no more public hook-ups to ease some of the pain and stress life throws their way.

But as he sits in the hotel lobby, the same hotel that their best friends have gathered for a birthday celebration, waiting for her to arrive, he becomes antsy, unnerved like he’s about to fuck up his entire life.

As Arya walks into the building, his eyes immediately fall to hers and the wind is knocked out of him at the mere sight of her alone.

She’s wearing ripped black leggings and an old band t-shirt that he thinks might have belonged to him sometime in the past, only now it’s cut in half to end just at the top of her waist, all thoughts about ending things completely out the window, so to speak.

He’s so fucked.

In the instant Arya walks up to him, his mind concentrates on one thought and one thought only.

That he _needs_ her back. Like he’s never needed anything in his entire life.

That they need to stop whatever foolery they’re kidding themselves with and just be one again.

He’ll do better, he knows he can. He’ll work on his hot-headedness and his anger issues and be open to telling her more, something he should have done all along. He loves her, he’ll _always_ love her.

She gives him a playful smirk as they stand there waiting for the others to arrive, a party in the penthouse suite of one of the fanciest hotels in Westeros wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought about how he’d be spending this night, but with Arya here looking like a fucking goddess, well, he could care less about what his friends are doing at the time being.

They don’t get to speak as the gathering starts to get more and more crowded and when the lot of them head for the private service elevator, Gendry grabs Arya by the arm and steers her away from the others, down a small corridor where they’re safe and secluded.

“What do you say we catch up with them later and have a little bit of our own fun, yeah?”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he stutters for an explanation, “As my way uh, of thanking you for helping me destress the other night.”

She rolls her eyes at him before smirking and cocking a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and he feels himself relax at her ease, “Please, that was just as much pleasurable for you as it was for me. Maybe it wasn’t about helping you, maybe I just needed a good fuck. Like I have since we broke up. I mean that’s all it is with us, now right, just sex?”

Okay, that hurts, and he recoils at her words like she just punched him in the throat.

She must sense his sudden ill feelings because her next words hit him like a slap in the face, “Unless you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to anymore? We always said if we met someone else then we’d…”

She almost looks disappointed as she says it.

He stops her there, not wanting her to think that anyone in his life could ever measure up.

“No, there’s no one else and no I don’t want to stop.”

“Good, because I like the way things are, I think it works out better for us if we just keep doing what we’re doing, yeah?”

He nods, disappointment washing over him like a dark storm cloud, “No, yeah, I totally agree.”

His demeanor changes then as subtly as he can manage, pretending to not care that he wants things to go back to the way they were before, that he wants her to be his again, strings and fights and all.

Gendry still wants to be alone with her, despite this hiccup in his plan to ask her to be his girlfriend again, and so he grabs her hand and leads her back down the hall and to the regular set of elevators,  
“Come on, let see what kind of trouble we can get into before getting the real party started upstairs.”

They stop on a random floor and hide behind a wall as a maid with a cart finishes up in a room about three feet away, heading in the opposite direction.

Gendry steps quietly over to the door and keeps it open with his foot while Arya steps inside, him right on her heels as the door clicks shut softly, the maid still unsuspecting in the next set of rooms over.

He watches as Arya’s eye light up at the fully stock mini bar, rushing over to it excitedly, “Pick your poison.”

“We shouldn’t take anything, whoever just check out of here will be charged for it.”

“We’ll leave a note and some cash, it’ll be fine.”

She holds her arms out for emphasis, “ _Dear staff, sorry we took some of your delicious beverages, here’s a wad of cash to make up for it, signed a couple of non-guests of your lovely establishment_.”

Now that’s the Arya he loves, the mischievous scoundrel with a heart of gold.

They each down a mini liquor bottle before moving out onto the balcony, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the city below them.

With that same softness in her grey eyes and cheeks now flushed light pink from the alcohol, a warm feeling engulfs him, making it hard to turn away from staring at her gorgeous, glowing self.

She turns her head slightly to the side, her steel eyes peeking out from underneath soft brown bangs, feeling his eyes on her no doubt, “What?”

He can’t very well say what he wants to now. That he loves her and that he wants her back, she’d run so fast and he’d most likely never see her again.

Unless….

No, he can’t risk losing her for good.

She is the one that ending things after all, he never really had a choice in the matter other than letting out his hurt in a way that mirrored her own. With words that stung and left a bad taste in your mouth and tears that dried over time.

Or perhaps for him they never dried at all.

But, if anyone ever asked, the real and honest truth would be that it was a mutual decision to end things permanently.

So, he does what they’ve both come to expect, he uses lust as an escape for the truth.

He steps up behind her forcing her to put all of her weight against the railing balcony as he whispers seductively in her ear, “How opposed would you be to me fucking you right here and now, where anyone can see if they looked close enough?”

By the look in her eyes he already knows the answer before she even voices it, “I’d say get on with it then, Baratheon.”

Using his given, not born surname stirs something within and she knew it would. He takes his time in unbuckling his jeans behind her, using her as a human shield to be as inconspicuous as possibly, but as she helps him pulls her leggings down from behind just as much as he needs, he almost loses his grip on reality and unclothes her completely as the tip of his cock teases at her folds that are getting wetter by the second.

After he stills himself fully inside her, his arms reach out to brace the railing and to anyone that may look there way, although they are a bit higher up, they’re just a typical couple enjoying the view from their hotel room.

He finds a slow but torturous rhythm that has them both panting and thrusting seemingly into thin air within minutes, both already spent from the thrill and the electricity flowing between them, “ _Fuck Gendry_.”

Arya turns her head back just enough to catch his eyes when she says, “Come with me.”

And that’s all it takes for him to spill himself as deep as he can and her to clench and ride out the wave beside him.

He stays inside her after that still, neither of them having the capacity to do much else until their heartbeats and breathing return to normal.

He tucks himself back inside his jeans as he lifts the material of her leggings back up to it’s rightful place along her hips and as she turns around to face him, the light of the moon casting a shadow over her body, but the light from the hotel room gives him just enough leeway to see the single tear spill from her stormy grey eyes.

He panics instantly, a fear creeping up his spine making him shiver despite the warmer weather, “Fuck, Arya, did I do something wrong? Why are you crying?”

She starts laughing and he feels the tension leave his body, amusement replacing the eerie feeling he just experienced, “Shit, was the sex that good that I made you cry?!”

They’re both laughing hysterically now as they head back inside, shutting the balcony doors and the world out.

Sitting on the bed, he watches as she takes his hand, holding it in her own, “Yes, and no.”

Arya bites her lip, a tell indicating she’s nervous which in turn causes him to be just as anxious, “I miss the misery.”

Well, that was certainly unexpected, “Uh, what?”

“I miss the misery; I miss fighting and arguing with you. Despite them getting out of hand occasionally, at least I felt _something_. It was always just so intense with us no matter what we did, and I miss that, I miss us.”

He swallows thickly, not quite believing what he’s hearing but hoping to everything that’s scared it’s true, “I love you Gendry, I always will. And we’re a fucking disaster and have a lot of issues to deal with both personally and together, but there’s no one else I’d rather fight with. It’s always going to be you.”

Because words are failing to tell his brain to tell his mouth to fucking move and not just sit her and gape at her like a damn fish out of water, he grabs her by her hair and crushes his lips against hers, hoping to throw all of his feelings into that one kiss alone.

Her eyes are still closed when he pulls away, her lips puckering seeking his out as her eyes flutter open slowly, a small smile forming, “So I take it that means you miss us too, huh?”

“So much. I want everything with you, Arya.”

She kisses him this time, softer, but still just as sweet, “Good.”

“Good.”


End file.
